Letter to Lou
by KissHerSenseless
Summary: Harry writes a confession letter to Louis, not meaning for Louis to ever find it, but he does. Angst ensues. Part 1 is the letter, and part 2 is how it all turns out. COMPLETE!
1. Part 1

Dear Lou,

I never meant to fall in love with you.

It wasn't immediate. I had no romantic thoughts about you whatsoever when we met at boot camp. It really was just an excellent, terrible mistake. If I could've prevented it or made it stop somehow, I would've. I would've done it in a heartbeat. I value our friendship so much more than my feelings for you. Having to resist you every time you smile, or yawn, or sing, or snore, or do basically anything else, is a lot better than no you at all. I couldn't live without those tiny, innocent pleasures, Lou. They've been keeping me going, but it makes me feel like a twisted person. Like I'm taking advantage of you somehow, even though I would _never _do anything you aren't okay with. The truth is, those subconscious habits, those little tics that make you pure, unadulterated _Louis_, they make me love you even more. I fall a little bit deeper in love with you every time I see the unrestrained happiness in your eyes just before they crinkle at the corners for that dazzling yet unbearable grin.

I can't really pinpoint an exact time I noticed it, just that it hasn't always been there. It's been there so long that it seems familiar. I'm almost accustomed to the pang in my chest when I think that you aren't mine. Almost. That pang, however, has a very distinct beginning. Do you remember, Lou, when we went to the zoo to look at the prairie dogs two summers ago? It's always bewildered me why you like them so much, but I finally agreed to take you after you begged nonstop for hours. You were so childishly excited, but that's so _you_. So anyway, we got to the zoo and entered, under vague disguises that wouldn't have held under the scrutiny of a toddler, but in our defense we'd been in a hurry to beat the rush. Of course you dragged me all the way across the zoo immediately, having memorized the route a long time ago. We watched those monotonous prairie dogs for an hour and a half, Lou. You just stood them, transfixed, as the world went on around you. You took a special interest in this little one with so many bald spots he was almost completely bald. He seemed to like you too, sniffing at you outstretched hand and staring straight at you. Then he turned around, picked a dry brown leaf up in his mouth and laid it before you like it was the world's best sacrifice. Seeing that was what made me feel it for the first time. Jealousy. Over a zoo animal; it's ridiculous, I'm aware. But I couldn't help but think that you paid the stupid prairie dog more attention than you paid me. Later, when you bought me a frozen lemonade, whispering thanks with a look in your eye that I never wanted to leave and intertwining our hands, I realized how naïve I'd been. And how hopelessly head over heels I really was.

I'm glad that it was you, in a way. Sometimes it's easy to pretend you love me back. Sometimes you act like it. Like when you snuggle a little closer and nuzzle your head into my neck with that soft noise in your throat. It's easy to pretend that when you roll closer to me at night, on the not-so-rare occasions that we share a bed, you're not dreaming of Eleanor. It's easy to pretend you want me the same way I want you, especially when we sing and you get that desperate, half-crazed look in your eyes and they seek mine and instantly that wave of calm washes over them and you give a crooked half-smile like nothing was wrong. It's easy to pretend you feel the same way, and have to hide it for the same reasons I do, but I know you don't.

At the same time, it's completely rotten luck that I feel in love with my best friend. (And I know you're humming Lucky by Jason Mraz now, don't deny it). Any of the other boys would've been better. Or a girl, but I haven't dared hope for that in years. I don't have as much to lose with them. You, on the other hand, mean everything to me. You're all I need. And I'm terrified to tell you this (in fact, I'll probably burn this before you ever read it) because if I lost you, I'd lose myself. I don't think I could bear it. Never make me make that decision, _please_.

But Lou, a day without your wonderfully blue eyes or your smooth tan skin or your warm encompassing arms, isn't really a day at all. Those are the characteristics of a true day, not the sun, moon or stars. So, it's the way you peek your tongue out the corner of your mouth when you think too hard. The way your left eyebrow twitches when you're trying to hold back laughter. The peaceful, soulful expression you get when you sing. The way you call your sisters every day to check up and spend half an hour afterward trying not to cry. The way your toes curl into your designated "flying Toms" when we fly in an airplane because you're afraid but you don't want to admit it. Even the way your face flushes and turns to stone when you're angry. Don't those seem more significant than some silly pattern of light and dark?

Lou, I want to spend forever with you. Not just today, or a week, or a month, or a year. Forever. So don't ask me if I'm sure about you. I am. I've had time to think it over, and I'm absolutely sure that I need you forever. Forever is a big deal. I want to find the perfect house and make it a home. I want to fill it with family. I want to put out our last album together and retire together. I want to discover my first gray hair with you and find out we're going to be grandparents together. I want to grow old with you and take my last breath with you by my side.

It's incredibly selfish of me to tell you this. I know that. That's part of the reason I've kept this a secret for two years. You're happy with Eleanor, and in the most clichéd way possible, that's what I want above all. You come first for me, Lou. You are my priority and I really would do anything for you. I don't expect this letter, which doesn't even start to touch on my feelings for you, to change anything. I just thought you deserved to know. And is it incredibly selfish to wish that you'd love me back?

I'm so sorry for telling you this. I don't regret it, no matter what happens, but I don't want to ruin anything. I don't want you to choose between me and anything or anyone. Just please don't let this change anything. I'm so sorry for falling in love with you, Lou.

I love you so much, Louis.

-Harry


	2. Part 2

"Louis?" Harry asked, peeking his head into the hospital room that had become more familiar to him than his own home.

"Who is it?" Louis croaked, squinting at the door, craning his wrinkled neck to see.

"It's me. Harry." Harry said, his throat thick with unshed tears.

"Oh." Louis focused on wringing his arthritic hands, unable to meet his husband's eyes. "Of course." Harry realized with an overwhelming wave of grief that his own husband didn't recognize him.

"I brought you something." He announced too loudly, stepping in quickly and shutting the door quietly.

"You didn't have to." Louis whispered, his voice cracking from disuse.

"It'll help." Harry said gently. "You don't have to read it if you don't want to." He set an envelope on Louis' lap and sat patiently in the visitor's chair that had taken the shape of his body from time spent in it. Louis fumbled with it for minute, tears of frustration springing to his eyes. He threw it aside when one slid down his weathered cheek.

"I can't." He said, rolling over stubbornly. Harry just nodded once and picked up the envelope himself. He cleared his throat.

"_Dear Lou,_" He began, his voice quavering a bit. "_I never meant to fall in love with you. It wasn't immediate…_" He read the rest of the letter aloud, sitting at the foot of Lou's bed halfway through the letter. Louis rolled over, propped himself up on a stack of pillows, and listened attentively. "_I love you so much, Louis. –Harry._" Harry finished in a voice raw from emotion despite this being the umpteenth time he'd read it to his husband. He met Louis' gaze.

"I've been dreaming about you." Louis said steadily, sounding more like the 20 year old man Harry had fallen in love with than he had in weeks.

"You—you know who I am?" Harry whispered, not quite daring to hope for the best.

"C'mere, Hazza. I've missed you." Lou grinned and tried to pull Harry into his arms ineffectively, weak arms pulling at clothes and skin franticly to no avail. Harry swallowed and scooted up next to Lou, wrapping a protective arm around him and planting a soft kiss on his temple. "How's Gabe?"

"I have a picture." Harry smiled wearily, opening the envelope once more and tugging the photo, torn and bent from the many times Lou had rediscovered his own family, from its depths.

Lou pored over the photo, occasionally putting his finger to someone's face and smiling fondly. "They're all there too." Harry froze. This was new. This wasn't part of the routine. "In my dream." He clarified.

"Right." Harry said in what he hoped to be a calm voice, but his heart was racing. Was this a sign? "Right. Louis, can you tell me everything you remember about this dream you've been having?"

"I…don't remember." Louis paused and coughed violently into a handkerchief. "All I know," he began again in a considerably hoarser voice. "is that when I'm around you I get the same feeling that I get in my dream."

Something sharp and hot pricked at Harry's throat, but this time he let the tears run freely, making wet spots in his shirt.

"Let us die young or let us live forever,

We don't have the power but we never say never,

Sitting in a sandpit, Life is a short trip,

The music's for the sad man."

Harry sang softly, holding Louis' hand tightly. Lou let out a soft cry.

"Forever young,

I wanna be,

Forever young,

Do you really want to live forever—"

Louis joined in for the chorus but stopped abruptly.

"Easy for us to say when we actually were young." He muttered.

Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Lou shook his head slightly.

"Look at us, Harry." He turned Harry toward the television across from them, turned off so they could see their reflections. Harry stared blankly at the balding elderly man he saw, almost tan with sunspots that should've—but didn't—make him regret his teenage years. He turned his gaze to the reflected man in the hospital gown, his skin tinged grey from lack of nutrients, exercise and sleep. His cheeks sagged down, giving his face a permanently sad expression.

"That isn't us." Harry said flatly.

"You're wrong. We were born to die, Haz. It's a cycle that never stops. You're born, shit happens, and then you die. There's no way to avoid it." Lou said bluntly.

"You aren't going to die." Harry said firmly.

"Yes, I am." Louis replied with the air of one announcing they'd be going to tea or doing something equally unimportant and pleasant soon rather than dying. "Maybe not today, or tomorrow, or even for a year. But I will die and we will be apart, whether you want to believe it or not."

"Why are you saying this? I don't understand. You don't usually say this." Harry whispered brokenly.

"We can't really be young forever, Harry." Lou said more gently. "It was all for nothing. I haven't made a difference."

"Yes, you have! I love you! Doesn't that matter? Your family loves you! That matters! Your name is known in every household in the nation! I think that counts as a difference." Harry retorted.

"Yes, but does it really? In 100 years, will anyone look back and say that I made a change? I've just sang songs my entire life, Harry. I haven't even made a dent in the world."

"You listen to me, Louis Tomlinson. You not only changed my life, you turned it completely around. You have made your mark. I'm so proud of you, boo bear." Harry said fiercely, pressing his forehead to Louis'. Louis' eyes filled up and pushed his mouth against Harry's desperately, his tears dripping onto Harry's face.

"I'm so tired." He murmured, snuggling back into the thin scratchy comforter after they broke away. Harry's heart skipped a beat. He wasn't ready to have to start over with Lou again tomorrow.

"No."

Louis' eyes fluttered closed.

"Nonono, you have to stay awake for me, okay, Lou? NURSE!" Harry stabbed at the emergency button on the wall with one hand and smoothed the white wisps of hair on Lou's forehead with the other.

"It's okay, I made a difference. I'll see you tomorrow." Louis said contentedly.

"Don't forget me." Harry pleaded, shaking. A nurse rushed in, the same as always, and pried Harry away from the bed.

"He needs his sleep, darling. You can do it again tomorrow." She assured him, her strong Irish accent pleading.

"LET ME GO!" Harry roared. "He was different, he remembered!" He broke free of the nurse's restraining grip and collapsed on the near-sleep man. He placed the envelope and photo on the bedside table, pulling the sheet a bit higher and planting a kiss on Lou's forehead.

"You can do it again tomorrow." The nurse repeated, turning her head away from Harry so he wouldn't see the sparkle of tears in her eyes.

"Someday there won't be a fucking tomorrow!" He snarled.

"We're doing everything we can, sir." She said quietly, wringing her hands.

"It's not enough." Harry gazed at the frail sleeping form of his husband, and remembered a time when it wasn't like this.

"Hazza? What are you doing?" Lou peered into Harry's bedroom.

"Shit! You weren't supposed to be home for hours!" Harry shoved everything hastily out of sight.

"What were you doing?"

"Just a journal, Lou. How's Eleanor?" Harry changed the subject with an awkward clearing of his throat.

"She's fine." Louis sounded much less interested now, picking at a stray thread on his Toms.

"You guys get a good gift for Lux?" Harry continued, unnoticing.

"Eleanor didn't want to go to the toy store, so we went to some café instead and ate those dumb little finger sandwiches."

"Hey, I'm sorry you didn't get to go to the toy store; I know how much you love it there. You know what? I'll take you right now. I need to grab something for her too." Harry suggested excitedly, but Lou only looked more morose. "…Something wrong, Boobear?"

"It's nothing. I'll just grab some shoes and we can go." Louis lied, mustering a smile.

In the cab, Lou was uncharacteristically quiet. Harry was still concerned about his strange behavior, but let it slide, knowing that Lou would talk to him when he wanted to.

They were already in front of the toy store before Lou spoke again, and it was with a sudden urgency that he spoke, as if he would explode if he didn't say it in time.

"Harry? Why do you always do things with me?" He asked childishly. Harry laughed.

"Because we're best friends! What kind of friends would we be if we didn't spend time together?" He answered easily, opening the grand doors to the toy store, and Lou dropped the question as thousands of marvelous toys were revealed.

"No, I just mean… why do you do things with me that Eleanor won't?" Lou pursued on Row 11 of the Stuffed Animals section.

"It makes me sad when you're sad, Boobear. And you're sad when you can't go to Six Flags, or mini-golfing, of the toy store. So I go there with you, and problem solved! It's pretty simple." Harry shrugged, looking closely at a Buzz Lightyear action figure. Lou blinked, astonished at the simple honesty in his answer.

"Oh." He said softly.

"Do you think Liam is getting Lux Toy Story stuff?" Harry wondered.

"Yeah, steer clear; he's got it covered pretty thoroughly."

"Eleanor isn't that thoughtful about my feelings." Harry's heart skipped a beat. Was Louis figuring out Harry's feelings for him?

"You're in a weird mood today. Are you feeling okay?" He just teased.

"Fine, yeah."

"I think I'll get her this." Harry grinned, gesturing to a 4 foot tall purple giraffe plushie.

"Can… can I have one too?" Lou's eyes were as wide as saucers, and how could Harry resist?

Later that night, when Harry was cuddled up on the couch with Lou's new giraffe (he was quite fond of it and dubbed it Oliver despite Lou's repeated cries that Oliver was not a fitting name for a purple giraffe, and Theodore was much better) and Lou was singing drowsily somewhere by Harry's head (he was too comfortable to check), the issue pressed itself into Lou's mind once more. He sighed, not wanting to ruin the moment.

"I just feel comfortable around you, y'know?" He murmured.

"Mmmm…" Harry nuzzled his nose further into Oliver/Theodore.

"And I don't really… feel that around Eleanor."

"Why is this bothering you so much?" Harry asked, his voice muffled through synthetic fur.

"Dunno, seems important."

"Go to bed, we'll talk about it in the morning, yeah?" Harry suggested, and no idea had ever sounded better to Lou.

"I'm just going to get some pajamas, I'll be right back." Lou whispered, scooting carefully off the couch. He padded into his room, yawning broadly. He opened his bottom drawer and rifled around for his favorite pajama pants—the ones with alligators riding bicycles. Much to his annoyance, they were nowhere to be found. _Maybe they were in Harry's room?_ Lou thought. Harry sometimes borrowed Lou's clothes when Lou was at Eleanor's for the night. Flicking on the light in Harry's room (and squinting at the bright light), he opened Harry's pajama drawer and the pajama pants were right on top, neatly folded. Lou slipped them on, and turned to leave, but a stack of papers on Harry's bed caught his eye. Curiosity overtook him, and he knew it was wrong to look through Harry's things, but why was Harry keeping secrets from him anyway? It was probably nothing, so he might as well have a look, right? With this thought, Lou snatched the pile and flopped onto the bed, reading eagerly.

_Dear Lou,_

_I never meant to fall in love with you._

Lou froze.

"Lou, what are you do—" Harry walked into the room and stopped midsentence as he spotted the letter in Lou's shaky hands. "What are you doing?! That's private!" he ripped it out of Lou's hands. Lou didn't move, shocked.

"You… love me?"

"Yeah, I do. Go ahead, make fun of me."

"God, this is all so ridiculous!" Lou's head fell into his hands and actually started _laughing,_ the bastard! "This whole time you've felt the same way!" he managed and dissolved into hysterics once more.

This time, it was Harry who froze.

"You're in love with me too?" Harry breathed, his eyes glistening.

"Yes, God, I couldn't have made it more obvious!" Lou gasped for breath, and Harry started to laugh too.

"I thought the same thing!"

"We are… _such _idiots!"

"Totally oblivious." Harry agreed.

Lou finally calmed down, and he propped himself up on his elbows.

"Does this mean I can kiss you now?" He asked casually. Harry swallowed.

"Yeah, s'pose so."

Lou stood up and brushed his lips lightly over Harry's once, as if asking permission. Then, very gently, he pressed his lips to Harry's. The kiss was languid and slow and warm and wet and absolutely perfect.

"I love you." Harry whispered against Lou's mouth.

"I love you too." Louis whispered back.

"Sir? Are you okay?" The nurse asked, her eyebrows knit together in worry. "Do you need to sit down?"

"Yes, I think so." Harry said faintly, and the nurse helped him into a seat in the hospital waiting room.

"I'll just be in the nurses' room, if you need me." She took a step away, but Harry grabbed her arm insistently.

"Will you sit with me for a while?" He asked, embarrassed. The nurse's heart panged for the lonely man, and she smoothed her scrubs as she sat down next to him.

"You can call me Beverly." She offered.

"I'm Harry Styles." Harry said.

"Harry Styles, Harry Styles… where have I heard that name before?! Oh, that's right, mum! She's a big fan of your band…?"

"One Direction." Harry supplied with a smile.

"That's the one! Oh, my mum was such a fan back in her day—could I get an autograph for her? I'm so sorry, this is embarrassing." Beverly's eyes lit up, and her Irish accent shining through in her excitement.

"Of course." Harry chuckled and signed a spare piece of paper obligingly, with his old bubbly signature.

"She's going to love this; thank you so much, Harry." Beverly said reverently, folding the paper carefully and putting it in the pocket of her scrubs.

"Anything for the fans." Harry grinned.

"So the patient in there is Louis, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"And he's… your brother?" She guessed.

"Husband." Harry laughed. Beverly apologized, blushing.

"It's just—you two have such an understanding of each other, you know? It's such an intimacy that it seems like you can read each other's thoughts. Even when he doesn't remember you. It's beautiful; I've never seen anything like it." Beverly commented softly.

"Thank you." Harry murmured. "Sometimes I feel like I can't get through to him anymore."

"He loves you with his everything, Harry, don't you doubt it for a second." Beverly assured him firmly.

"Do you have a family?" Harry asked abruptly. Beverly smiled, reddening around her ears.

"Just my fiancée, Don. I've got a photo in here, somewhere, hang on." She said, rooting around in her pockets and pulling out a small metal ID case, which she flipped open, revealing a photo of a man in military uniform. "He's deployed now and he'll be home in June."

"You must be so excited." Harry said warmly, taking the photo and looking closely at it. As he handed it back to her, he noted the look of absolute adoration in her eyes as she talked about him.

"Oh, I am. The whole family's coming in to welcome him, but I just want him all to myself." She laughed. "Oh, where are my manners? How about your family?"

"We have 2 sons and a daughter—Gabe, Bryce and Darcy. Gabe's got his life in a big mess right now. Drugs, alcohol, unemployed, on the brink of being evicted, sleeping around. Won't even accept money from us; the idiot refuses to take money from us even though he knows he can't pay the rent anymore." Harry said in frustration. "Complete opposite of Bryce and Darcy. Bryce's married to a lovely woman named Elizabeth with 2 kids, and he's a police officer. Darcy's a missionary, married to Clara. They're over in Haiti now working." Beverly put her hand over Harry's.

"Gabe will come around. He will. With parents like you two, he can't resist for much longer." She said.

"I do hope so."

"My mum's got cancer, you know. Just like your husband." Beverly said quietly.

"I'm sorry." Harry whispered, and meant it. He cleared his throat. "He was so lively… it's painful to see him like this."

"I know how you feel." Beverly said wryly, wringing her hands. "Listen, Harry, I need to tell you something."

"What is it?"

"The doctors don't want me to tell you yet, but you're in the same position as I am, and I'd want to know if I were you." Beverly continued, sounding more confident now. "Can we go into the other room?" Harry nodded, concerned, and Beverly helped him into an empty triage room down the hall.

"Beverly, I'm worried. What is it?" Harry said, his voice echoing in the empty room.

"It's Louis, Harry… he's not—" Beverly began, and burst into tears. "—he's n-not getting b-b-better, Harry."

"You're wrong, he remembered me today!" Harry cried, stumbling back against the cold door.

"S-Sometimes they get a lot better before they get a lot worse, and—" Beverly sniffed valiantly. "a-and Louis shows all the signs of rapid de...decline in a few days."

"Why are you saying this?" Harry screamed, fury contorting his face. "This isn't funny, just stop!" Beverly's heart broke and she reached out to the old man, but he pushed her hand away. For several pregnant minutes, there was silence, Harry turned away and breathing heavily as he struggled not to cry. "How long does he have?" Harry asked gruffly, unable to conceal the break in his voice on the last word.

"2-5 weeks." Beverly whispered.

"Dammit!" Harry pounded a fist onto the metal table, thinly veiled with a scratchy white sheet. Tears welled up in his eyes and he let them spill over this time. "God dammit, Lou, you promised! YOU PROMISED!" he yelled at the sky, and fell down, his entire body (his entire being, really) racked with sobs that weighed heavily on his soul.

The phone was ringing, and it was really the last thing Harry Styles wanted to hear.

"Hello?" He answered, out of breath.

"Dad?"

"Bryce?" Harry asked, confused.

"No, no, erm, it's Gabe." The voice said uncomfortably.

"Gabe, my son." Harry breathed.

"Oh God, Dad, I'm so sorry." Gabe sobbed.

"Oh, Gabe. It's okay, son."

"Is—is it okay if I come today? I know it's short notice, but I couldn't get up the courage to call." Harry was quiet. "I'm clean, I swear. Please, Dad."

"Of course you can, Gabe." Harry said at last, his throat thick.

"Dad? I love you." Gabe blurted.

"I love you too. I'll see you at the… funeral." Harry forced the foul word out.

They hung up, and Harry couldn't decide whether to smile, or cry. Gabe hadn't made contact with them for years, but today was dhe day. The day of The Funeral. Louis' funeral.

"You ready, Harry?" Liam asked quietly.

"Funny how time passes so quickly when you don't want it to, isn't it?" Harry said, ignoring Liam's question.

"No, it's not funny at all." Liam said solemnly, and they made their way to the car on the beautifully sunny day that was mocking them.

Some things aren't meant to last forever, and some things are. Harry couldn't help but think that as Niall, Liam and Zayn sang; and Danielle and Jessie and Lana clung to each other, each with tear tracks down their faces; and Gabe clutched his hand like a lifeline; and the cruel sun beat down on them merrily; and Louis lay unmoving in a simple cherry wood casket; him and Louis were forever.


End file.
